


Dizzy Miss Lizzie

by under_a_grey_cloud



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:48:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/pseuds/under_a_grey_cloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dizzy Miss Lizzie began as Part Two of "And I can't find my way home." The stories verged off so far from each other that I have made them separate stories.. Apologies to current readers for the rather unprofessional title changes.</p><p>Castiel comes to terms with his need to join forces in the war that is tearing Heaven apart. He had been putting off active duty to be with Dean and the Winchesters. Now, as the war gets uglier, Castiel realizes he must join the fight.</p><p>Dean adjusts rather poorly to Castiel's absence. He already misses Cas terribly, and has let himself deteriorate very rapidly. He's staying in Sam's apartment with Sam and Lola. Sleeping in the same bed he used to share with Cas is very difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mad World

**Author's Note:**

> This work includes Lola, a character I created in "And I Can't Find My Way Home." Lola was conceived as an experiment of Crowley's. Her father is Dean, who, at the time of her conception, was part demon and part human. Her mother, who is not involved in her life, was an angel. Thus Lola contains human, demon, and angel blood. She grew up exponentially quickly, so although she is now seventeen, only a few years have passed since her birth. Lola lives with her father, Uncle Sammy, and her godfather Castiel when he is around.
> 
> I own no rights to any of the characters in Supernatural, nor anything else based on SuperNatural.  
> Also I own no rights to any of the songs at the beginning of each chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dizzy Miss Lizzie began as Part Two of "And I can't find my way home." The stories can be read sequentially or separately. Apologies to current readers for the rather unprofessional title changes.
> 
> Castiel comes to terms with his need to join forces in the war that is tearing Heaven apart. He had been putting off active duty to be with Dean and the Winchesters. Now, as the war gets uglier, Castiel realizes he must join the fight.
> 
> Dean adjusts rather poorly to Castiel's absence. He already misses Cas terribly, and has let himself deteriorate very rapidly. He's staying in Sam's apartment with Sam and Lola. Sleeping in the same bed he used to share with Cas is very difficult.  
> Notes:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work includes Lola, a character I created in "And I Can't Find My Way Home." Lola was conceived as an experiment of Crowley's. Her father is Dean, who, at the time of her conception, was part demon and part human. Her mother, who is not involved in her life, was an angel. Thus Lola contains human, demon, and angel blood. She grew up exponentially quickly, so although she is now seventeen, only a few years have passed since her birth. Lola lives with her father, Uncle Sammy, and her godfather Castiel when he is around.
> 
> I own no rights to any of the characters in Supernatural, nor anything else based on SuperNatural.  
> Also I own no rights to any of the songs at the beginning of each chapter.

**Mad World**

**And I find it kind of funny**  
**And I find it kind of sad**  
**That the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had**  
**I find it hard to tell you**  
**I find it hard to take**  
**When people run in circles it’s a very very**

 **Mad world**  
**Mad world**  
**Mad world  
** **Mad world**

**\- Tears for Fears**

 

        

         Castiel stared up at the stars, amazed, as always, by the exquisite inscrutability of Heaven’s night sky. Unfortunately, that did nothing to affect the escalating fighting in Heaven.. The war threatened not only his little personal Heaven, but the nature of Heaven itself. Angels were going to Earth to buy ingredients for IEDs, then returning to Heaven and turning their home into a wasteland of destruction and terrorism. He could not stand by and watch any longer.

         He would have joined the fray a long time ago had it not been for Dean and the Winchesters. He’d put his personal happiness ahead of his duty for way too long. He needed to take Dean and his family back to Earth in the morning, and return to fight for the majesty and freedom that was his to protect.

         Castiel knew this would be the first of many separations. He knew he would never stop fighting until Heaven was safe and restored to its original paradise. He also knew Dean was committed to being a good father, and to continue hunting on Earth, doing his part to make his own world a little better. Yet a strange calm descended over Castiel. He knew that, however hopeless he may feel, however dire circumstances might seem, Dean would always be with him, in body or in spirit. To stand by him, to fight for him, to watch his back, and to love him.

         Cast couldn’t remember ever having felt this happy. He also couldn’t remember ever having felt such trepidation. How long would the war go on? How would it end? Would the Winchesters be alright without him? These were questions, of course, that had no answers.

=========

         Cas had just broken the news that he needed to take the Winchesters home and return to fight the civil war in Heaven. Dean responded with all the emotion of a stone. They were lying on the bed, completely dressed. Cas lay very close to Dean, holding him but not moving. He let out a strange little sigh. “I had no idea it was possible to love someone this much. Angels love God and their brethren, but, having no real emotions, they do not love romantically. I’d always taken the status quo for granted, but now I don’t know how I survived for so long without you. Thank you so much, Dean, for letting me into your life and showing me how to love you. Had you been anyone else, I never would have known. I feel blessed to have you in my life. Maybe God isn’t gone. Just watching.”

         Dean sighed and said “That’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. Believe me, I never imagined myself with a guy, and I certainly didn’t imagine loving a angel. But now, all I feel, all I want, is you. All of the time. My father was a Marine. I get your need to fight for Heaven and leave us on Earth. But man, I don’t like it one fucking bit.”

         Castiel was silent. Humans still had the ability to confound him, and he had literally no idea what to say to Dean that might make him feel better. Maybe it wasn’t possible for him to feel better. Going off to war to restore honor and beauty in Heaven should have made Cas feel glorious. Instead, he felt confused, bemused, and very sad.

         They didn’t make love that night. Dean fell asleep holding Castiel. Castiel spent the night reveling in the pleasure of being in Dean’s arms. He desperately hoped their love would survive.

==========

         Dean was feeling happier than he could remember. He’d just made love to Cas. He could taste the come on his fingers, see the beads of sweat on Castiel’s forehead. He licked them off, enjoying the warm, salty taste on his lips mixing with the different salty taste of semen. Yet perhaps the best part was just being with Cas, holding him, feeling his skin, smelling his sweat-soaked hair. He could lie in bed with Cas for hours.

         Unfortunately, that was not going to happen that morning. Dean’s good mood immediately faded when he realized he’d been dreaming. He’d awoke alone, to a painful erection. He took care of it himself, as efficiently as possible. He’d had a lot of lonely mornings lately to practice. Dean was staying in what was now Sam’s apartment. He slept in the same bedroom he had shared with Cas. He desperately wanted to feel Castiel beside him, but he supposed dreaming about  it was better than nothing. He could call Cas in Heaven, but he had nothing new to say. Win the war and come back to me? Win the war and bring me back to you? Screw the war and stay with me forever?

         The one time Cas had been able to visit, Dean couldn’t stop himself from begging for just a little bit more time. Castiel replied  “I love you very much, Dean, but the fate of Heaven is at stake. This is angel on angel terrorism. It must be stopped. I shouldn’t be here at all; I’m needed back home right now. I am truly sorry it’s so hard on you, but you are asking me to choose between the needs of all of Heaven, and those of one man. I have to go.” He had disappeared, not even taking the time for a quick hug or kiss. Castiel’s immediate presence was apparently crucial to the war.

         Dean wondered how that worked. Did angels fight each other in their vessels, and if not, how could incorporeal beings wage war at all? He didn’t think it was a great idea to call Cass back and ask him.

         He tried to go back to sleep, but the sound of a door slamming killed that chance. Lola, he thought. He reached down on the floor under the bed and fumbled around until he found his bottle of whiskey. He took a long swig from the bottle, sighed, and put the bottle back under the bed. Dean figured that some people like to start the day with meditation or prayer or yoga. He reasoned that he happened to like starting the day with a good shot of whiskey. Well, probably more like two or three shots, he thought. It’s hard to tell when you put the neck of the bottle in your mouth and pour.


	2. Disaster Button

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dizzy Miss Lizzie began as Part Two of "And I can't find my way home." The stories can be read sequentially or separately. Apologies to current readers for the rather unprofessional title changes.
> 
> Castiel comes to terms with his need to join forces in the war that is tearing Heaven apart. He had been putting off active duty to be with Dean and the Winchesters. Now, as the war gets uglier, Castiel realizes he must join the fight.
> 
> Dean adjusts rather poorly to Castiel's absence. He already misses Cas terribly, and has let himself deteriorate very rapidly. He's staying in Sam's apartment with Sam and Lola. Sleeping in the same bed he used to share with Cas is very difficult.
> 
> Crowley finds himself in a very peculiar physical situation, from which he has great trouble extricating himself. After freeing himself, he discovers where he is, leaves undetected, and takes a cab to his hotel. Always vain, Crowley takes special care with his appearance. He has a dinner date he is quite looking forward to.

**It can’t contain me but you're leaning on me**  
**To get me back in my box**  
**And snap the branches off me  
** **\- Gary Lightbody, Snow Patrol** ****  


         Crowley sat up and immediately smashed his forehead. Hard. It burned as well as throbbed. He was completely stumped, which did not happen very often. His entire body felt as if it were on fire. In complete darkness, he felt out for the walls surrounding him. It wasn’t very difficult; the walls were inches away, but they burned his hands. He cried out in pain. _You have got to be kidding me, Mother. Iron? Is this your idea of a joke? Because it is not even slightly amusing._

         “All right, Mother,” he said. “You win. Again. Locking me in an iron casket. Very satisfying, I imagine, but why?”

         No answer. _She must be here_ , Crowley thought. _It would be entirely unlike her not to revel in the spoils of her fun._ “I concede, Mother. Very funny. You’ve had your jollies. Now get me out of here!” he said, screaming by the end of the sentence. “I haven’t got all day, you know” he shouted, increasingly annoyed. “I would greatly appreciate being let out. NOW!”

         No response. _All right_ , thought Crowley. _So it’s not Mother. No matter. There must be a spell for escaping iron confinement. Although it seems to have slipped my mind at the moment._ He began exploring his confinement, determined to ignore the sting of iron on demon flesh. _I’ve slept in hotel drawers in Japan that seem like mansions compared to this form of incarceration._ The Japanese hotel drawers gave him an idea. Perhaps he was in a similar drawer made of iron, in which case he could push himself out. His body was not bound, allowing him to slowly and painfully push himself toward the far end of the enclosure.

         Finally, he felt his feet push up against a vertical wall. He willed the pain into incentive. To his surprise, pushing with his feet seemed to open the door to his confinement. He painfully slithered, with none of the grace of a snake, toward the crack of light he’d made with his feet. The harder he pushed, the further the door opened.

         Slowly, painfully, he managed to push what seemed like a drawer far enough for him to climb out _._ He looked around and saw he was surrounded on either side by a corridor of drawers, identical to the one from which he’d just freed himself. _What was this place? A prison for demons, the cells iron lockers laid on their sides?_ The drawers seemed to go on forever until they disappeared into a single point of perspective.

         The soles of his feet felt very cold. Demons did not possess angels’ immunity to temperature. In fact, his entire body felt cold. He looked down and saw, to his shock and humiliation, that he was entirely naked.

         His preternatural demon hearing picked up the chatter of two prison guards. As they approached Crowley, their conversation suddenly stopped.

         “Who the Hell are you,” the shorter guard asked, “and what on earth are you doing here?” The taller guard stared, literally dumb, his mouth open so wide saliva dripped onto his collar.

         “I might well ask you the same question,” Crowley responded with barely concealed fury. “I have done nothing deserving of being locked up in this vile prison.”

         “This isn’t a prison,” replied the shorter not-guard. “It’s a morgue.”

         “A morgue?!” exclaimed Crowley. “How repulsive. I take it you incarcerate demons in these iron drawers until they die? I’ve never heard of anything so ghoulish in my life.”

         “No,” said the shorter morgue employee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re in a morgue. You know, where dead people are stored. We use toe tags to identify them. You’re wearing one yourself.”

         Crowley glanced down and saw that, indeed, a tag was tied to his toe, with the words “John Doe” written on it. “My name is not John Doe,” Crowley growled. “I cannot help noticing that the tag around my toe is the _only_ thing I am wearing. Don’t stare at my genitailia. It’s impolite. The size, or lack thereof, is due to being **naked in a freezing cold Morgue!** ”

         “Uh, would you like a spare uniform?” asked the other man.

         “What I’d _like_ is my suit. Where is it?”

         “I have no idea,” said the smaller man. “The corpses are naked by the time we get them.”

         “I believe the word “corpse” generally applies to the dead. I, clearly, am not dead. I have no idea how I ended up here and I am colder than a witch’s tit so one of your hideous green garments would be very much appreciated.”

         The taller man turned a corridor and returned with a pair of green scrubs. “Would you like some privacy while you put these on?” he asked.

         “A bite late for that, don’t you think?” answered Crowley as he stepped into the pants and tied them around his waist. He had to roll up the cuffs several times not to slip over therm. The shirt fit more like a jacket, but it provided a modicum of warmth.

         “Sorry. All I could find was a size medium. You clearly need a small, but those are mostly worn by women, and not many women work in the morgue.”

         “The fit of my garment is of absolutely no concern to you, and would not have been a problem had you returned my suit,” barked Crowley.

         “Mister,” said the shorter man. “I don’t know who you are or how you got here but I suggest you leave before I call security.”

         “You just do that,” replied Crowley, muttering under his breath “waste of a perfectly good suit,” as he disappeared. He left both men gaping in confusion.

         The first thing Crowley did was get rid of his toe tag. He suspected it might make him look a tad suspicious. He then searched for a more dignified uniform, to help him look more commanding. Crowley put on an unattended long white doctor’s coat and stethoscope, which dragged painfully on the back of his burned neck. He spotted an ID lanyard on the floor and put it on, making sure to conceal the laminated card with a photo and name of some female employee inside the top of his scrubs.

         “Excuse me,” Crowley said to the first person he saw in a underling-like outfit. He did not want to deal with a doctor right now. “I’m filling in on a temporary shift and seem to have gotten disoriented.” Crowley nearly smirked; his sense of direction was impeccable. “Would it be too much to ask directions to the gentlemen’s locker room?”

         “Go to the end of the hall, take your first left, and your first left again. The men’s and women’s lockers are in the same place,” responded the employee. He gave Crowley an odd look, which the demon returned, just barely managing to keep his eyes from turning black. He found the locker room empty, surprised that anything was going well today. He rifled through the lockers until he found a suit and shirt that more or less fit. He put the doctor’s coat back on over the suit, and was about to leave the locker room when he noticed he was barefoot. Damn. His good luck continued, as the man whose suit he’d put on had a reasonably comfortable pair of shoes and socks on the locker floor. Crowley passed a mirror and scowled; he was not accustomed to wearing ill-fitting, itchy and clingy clothing. He left the hospital as quickly as possible and hailed a cab. Even with his excellent sense of direction, he needed a destination to lock onto, and he had no idea of the location of his present quarters on earth.

         His luck had definitely improved. The cabdriver was immersed in unpleasant music which, however dissonant, freed Crowley to relax and listen to the sounds of automobiles honking, busses making wheezing asthmatic noises as their compressed air doors automatically opened and closed, and the sirens of police cars and ambulances. When he reached his destination, he felt around in his pockets and found a wallet, containing enough cash to pay for the meter and a generous tip. Never let it be said that demons have poor manners, he thought, as he entered the hotel and took an elevator to his room. Whereupon he realized he no longer was in possession of his key card. “Damn it,” he whispered. “Pardon me,” he said to a man dressed in a reasonable facsimile of a hotel uniform. “I seem to have mislaid my room key,” he said in his usually imposing matter, clearly defining the nature of their conversation. “Would you be so kind as to skip down to the front desk and fetch me a duplicate? Room 379.”

         The man looked flustered. Crowley seemed to have that affect on humans. “Of course, sir. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Crowley had happened upon one of the junior managers, a position which was usually above fetching lost keys. Yet it hadn’t occurred to him to resist. “Here you go, sir,” he said as he handed the new key card to Crowley. Their fingers inadvertently touched for a moment, during which the junior manager felt a strange, disquieting sense of disgust and fear.

         Crowley opened the door and closed it behind him, ignoring the hotel employee. _Should have thanked him_ , Crowley thought. _I may require his services again in the future._ He opened his door and shouted “Sir” down the hallway at the junior manager, “Excuse my lapse in manners,” he said as the employee returned. “I completely forgot to give you a gratuity.” The employee looked confused; his job did not normally require gratuities, but it seemed unwise to protest. Crowley opened his wallet and quickly flipped through the cash, looking for the largest denomination. He handed the bill to the employee, who blushed and thanked Crowley profusely. He had just been given a $100 tip, for getting a new key card and delivering it to a guest.

         The first thing Crowley did was strip naked again and take a long hot shower. Strictly speaking, demons do not require showers. But Crowley reveled in the flow of hot water on his body and imagined it removing the distasteful odors and painful sensations from the unusually offensive day. When he’d had enough, Crowley donned the spare attire he always brought with him when he ventured anywhere from Hell. He stood in front of a large mirror, admired the impeccable fit of the suit, and arranged his hair with his fingers to cover the thinning spots. _At this rate I’ll be bald in a few hundred years,_ he thought irritably.

         Mother always said to make do with what you’ve got, he thought, preening in the mirror. His imported and carefully tailored suit gave him an air of distinguished je ne sais quoi. Certainly an improvement over the cheap off the rack suit, which he shoved into the used towels hamper. _Not bad, for a demon of my age._ He concluded that he looked like his usual impeccable, powerful self. He consulted his top of the line Cartier watch, pleased that he had plenty of time to ensure one of the best tables in the luxurious restaurant at which he had reserved a table for two. Demons do not need to eat or drink, but they can nonetheless enjoy a gourmet meal and a bottle of properly aged wine if they desire. He sat on the edge of one of the beds, transferring the contents of the cheap wallet to his own Louis Vuitton calfskin wallet. He was pleased to find that the hundred dollar bill had been one of several. He briefly wondered why a hospital employee would carry such a large amount of cash, let alone leave it unattended in a locker. He made certain to stash the room key in one of the many compartments of impressive wallet, which he carried whenever he was topside. The King of Hell negotiated in quite different currency.

         Crowley smiled as he closed the self-locking door behind him, pleased that he cut such an elegant figure, which would no doubt impress his dinner date. Not that he had the slightest interest in his date herself, but he intended to subtly ply her with questions, to refresh his memory and gather new information about the man in whom he was truly interested.


	3. Baby's Got a New Blue Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lola reaches puberty, and in this respect is like any other teenaged girl.
> 
> Dean and Sam struggle over what to do with her.
> 
> Cas visits when he can, but his mind is clearly on the civil war above.
> 
> Lola prepares to go on her first date; a blind date at that.

**Baby’s Got a New Blue Dress**

And Baby’s got a new dress on.  
Yes, Baby’s got a new dress on.  
You’d best get your tie tied tight.  
No, don’t you wait too long  
Baby’s got a new dress on.  
Yes, Baby’s got a new dress on.  
  
\- Bill Scorzara

         Lola had graced this world for five years. She was an experiment of Crowley's, the product of nearly anonymous angel genes and Dean's human and demon genes. Dean became 100% human after Lola was born. Lola did not. In the space of four years, she had grown in size and mental capacity to an eight or nine year old girl. She was charming and easily won the hearts of her father, her God-father Castiel, and her Uncle Sammy. They all found her precocity delightful, and were charmed by her overall good nature.

         From time to time she had her “demon bouts,” as she called them. The demon blood was stronger in her than it had ever been in Dean. He worried that she was growing so fast she’d end up as tall as a tree and live way beyond her father’s human lifetime. Castiel said not to worry; angels and demons grew incredibly quickly until they reached puberty. A few years after that, their physical growth slowed down, until their actual age caught up with their apparent age. At this point they aged normally, though their minds never stopped growing. This was a patent lie. Castiel saw no point in sharing his doubts with his family. Only Lola suspected.

         During her fifth year, Lola had grown to a seventeen-year-old teenager. Her human blood allowed her to experience all the mood swings of puberty. In this respect, Lola was no different from any teenaged girl. She was quick to anger, always looking for ways to prove her independence to her father. She was beautiful, with her long red curls and perfect body. Naturally she remained intellectually brilliant, past precocity and well into genius. Dean was worried about her learning so quickly and took her for an I.Q. test, although Sam and Cas didn’t see the point.They were right. Lola scored higher than the test could record, and the testers concluded that her intelligence surpassed genius and was thus immeasurable.

         Castiel thought it quite likely Lola had the most impressive mind of the human race, perhaps of any race. During his occasional visits, he could see for himself how her growth was still startlingly fast. Like Dean, he could only hope her leaps and bounds leveled out soon. There was no precedent either in Heaven or on Earth, and if there was in Hell, he didn’t know about it. He kept this to himself, and stuck with his previous explanation. Cas couldn’t bear to see Dean’s constant worry, and he couldn’t help hearing every word in Dean’s head as if he were shouting. It was difficult to ignore. Dean and Sam had pretty much given up trying to understand Lola, and were satisfied just to love her. Castiel loved her too, but continued to search for an answer.

         At times it was very hard to love Lola. This evening was one of those times. She descended the stairs wearing a black lace shirt and mini skirt, accompanied by black lace leggings and red Doc Martens. This was for the benefit of her first date; a mysterious blind date. She referred to her clothing as retro. He father referred to her clothing as unfit, especially out of the house.

         “Daddyyy,” Lola complained. “I’m a teenager. I’m infinitely more intelligent than you. I can spot a monster before you even know it’s there. I’m strong and I’ve taught myself self-defense. What can you possibly be worried about?”

         “You,” answered Dean. “Do you remember last Christmas? Yes, you are beautiful and smarter than I can comprehend, but there’s no way you have my years of experience as a hunter. You’re so certain you’re always right that you could get yourself killed before you noticed the threat. I don’t want to lock you away like Rapunzel, but I don’t want the police showing up at my door, hemming and hawing till they tell me you’re dead.

         “Baby, Dean continued, “a parent shouldn’t have to see his daughter die. And honestly, I think that’s the way you’re heading.”

         “He’s right,” said Sam. “Think of all your father’s lost. Do you really want to make him lose you, too?”

         Lola sighed while fixing the shoelaces on her Doc Martens in an extremely complicated pattern. “If you really believe that, you are far stupider than I’d thought. And I thought you were pretty stupid to begin with.

         “Lola!” Dean shouted. “That was incredibly rude. Apologize to Uncle Sammy right now.”

         “Sorry, Uncle Sammy,” she said in a sing-song voice, and then sighed. It was one of the least sincere apologies the brothers had ever heard. Dean decided to let it go, in favor of more important issues. After prodigious reading on child development, Sam had told his brother a prevailing theme: choose your battles.

         “You may well be serious about how you look and think, but there is one trait you are sadly lacking.”

         “I know, I know. Experience. But how the hell I am supposed to get experience if you won’t let me out of the goddamn house. I have a date tonight. I intend to keep that date". She glanced at her elegant watch. “Oh great. I’m late. Again. Can’t you just put a GPS on me and forget the whole “you’re just a teenager” part?

         Sam sighed. “What do you think? Should we just let her go? She can’t live under your thumb forever. And she’s got a point. How can she get experience when you never give her the chance to try?”

         “Ok. Fine.” Dean’s voice slurred a bit as he refilled his  umpteenth shot  of whiskey and downed it. “Let her go. The only one who could maybe stop her is Cas, and God knows when I’ll see him again. If I’ll ever see him again.” He sighed deeply.

         “Go on, kiddo. Have some fun. He rumbled around in his pockets till he found what he was looking for. “Here,” he tossed his car keys at Lola. “You might as well take Baby. Just keep her in good shape,” Dean said as he threw his daughter his car keys. “Ans NO ONE else gets behind the wheel of the Impala except you. Got it?

       Lola gave her Daddy a huge hug and kiss, and thanked him profusely.

       “All right all ready, “ Dean said. “Go. Outta my sight.” A brief smile graced his face. “Come on, kiddo. Go, before I change my mind.”

        And with that, Lola practically skipped to the front door. ‘I love you,” she added, while thinking of the Impala and her date. She stuck a small flask of whiskey into her purse, and stared defiantly at Dean. “Just don’t get too wasted to drive,” he said.

        Lola rolled her eyes. “As if I’m the one to worry about.” She looked at his bottle, then at Dean. “You’re the one who gets behind the wheel drunk every night.”

         She sighed and left her family behind.

         “Goodnight,” she called over her shoulder as she peeled away.

         Dean watched as if he’d never see his daughter or his Impala again. He turned around and went back into the house. Sam was nowhere to be seen. _Probably messing with his laptop,_ Dean thought. He plonked down on an un-matching chair and poured himself a whisky. “Cheers,” he said, to no one in particular.

         “For what it’s worth," came a familiar voice “I agree. She’s too young for blind dates, Cas said, “Although if this is good parenting, I’m at a loss for words.”

         “Cas!” Dean said, getting up to hug his lover. “What are you doing here?!”

         “Your thoughts were so loud I could hear them in Heaven. You seamed truly upset, so I stole a little time downstairs,” said Cass.

         “This is not good parenting, to answer your question.  It’s suck-ass parenting, as you damn well know,” said Dean.

         “Do you want to do something you’re really good at?” asked Cas, mussing up Dean’s hair. “Your hair’s so much longer than the last time I saw you.”

         “Haven’t had the time to get it cut,” Dean lied. He had plenty of time; he’d just become for all intents and purposes agoraphobic in his lassitude.

         “Come,” said Castiel.

         “When do I ever say no?” Dean replied.

         They led each other to the bedroom. When they reached the bed, Castiel picked up Dean as if he weighed no more than a feather and lay him on his back. He removed Dean’s and his own pants, and roughly pushed Dean’s knees apart as far as he could. He lifted Dean’s ass and pushed into him, hard and painful. Dean cried out in pain, then settled into Castiel’s rhythm. Cas fucked him harder then he ever had before, then suddenly shivered and came into Dean. He took Dean in his hand, intending to return the favor. Cas’s shiver made Dean come immediately. The two of them stayed interlocked as long as they could.

         Eventually, Cas got up, wiped his hand on the sheet, and put on his clothing.

         “Back to the civil war, then?” Dean asked,

         Castiel nodded. “I wish I could stay, but it’s a madhouse up there. Seeing you wasn’t the only reason I came,” he admitted.  I needed a break from the devastation. I hope my respite wasn’t too painful for you,” he added awkwardly.

         Den chuckled. “For better or worse, right? Though we’re not married,” he added a bit wistfully. “Only problem is I might not be able to sit down for a week. You were right to come. Come visit, I mean,” said Dean, blushing as he reached his hand under the bed for his bottle of whiskey. He caught the neck of the bottle, pulled it out and took a huge swig. “Want some?” Dean asked Castiel, sounding slightly slurred.

         Cas looked at Dean and shook his head. “That stuff is going to kill you” he said.

         “You gonna stay the night?” Dean asked.

          Castiel replied, “Of course not. I wish I could,  but we’re talking angel on angel civil war. I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

         “I’m glad you did,” Dean said.

         “So am I,” Castiel replied. “But they need me,”

         _So do I, Dean thought._ “Shut up and go,” Dean ordered.

         Castiel looked very surprised, but before he could leave, Dean caught him up in a long, sensual kiss. When Dean finally pulled away, Castiel immediately disappeared. Dean got properly into bed, curled up with his head in his hands, and for the first time since he was a child, cried himself to sleep. _Lola can do as she likes,_ he thought as he was falling asleep. _She always does._


	4. The Man who Stole the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lola meets a very friendly valet, Walker, which slightly makes up for her disappointment in her blind date. She'd been expecting an attractive young man. Instead, she is astounded and angry when her blind date turns out to be Crowley.
> 
> Crowley ploys Lola with Long Island Iced Tea as they make their way through the many miniscule courses. Crowley is entirely in his element in the restaurant, which is good as Lola proceeds from clumsy and inexperienced to clumsy and inexperienced and drunk.
> 
> Too drunk to drive home, Lola leaves her father's Impala in the garage. She's surprised when Crowley speaks of another engagement they will be attending that night. As soon as he's alone, Crowley holds Lola's hand and transports them to the mysterious location. When Walker returns to find them gone, he worries about Lola and takes steps to check up on her the next day. Meanwhile, his sleep is plagued with nightmares.

**The Man Who Stole the World**

Who knows?  
Not me  
I never lost control  
You're face to face  
With the man who sold the world  
  
Who knows?  
Not me  
We never lost control  
You're face to face  
With the man who sold the world  
\- David Bowie

 

  

 _Shit,_ thought Lola. _Figures. I’m already late and there’s no parking spaces_. Almost the entire street was cordoned off. Lola sat in the Impala for a minute with the motor running, her iPod blasting My Chem on full volume, before she started to drive off. A cute young man in what looked like a hotel or airport uniform ran after her car and knocked on the window. She lowered it a bit. “Would,” he said panting, very out of breath. “Hold on,” he coughed, leaning against the car. He took a couple of deep breaths. “That’s better. Would you like valet parking?” he asked.

         “You ran after my car just so you could park it for me?!” Lola responded, amazed.

         “It’s my job,” he said. “There’s no parking anywhere around here.”

         “Oh.” Lola said rather stupidly. _Idiot,_ she told herself. “Sure. Thanks. I was wondering where to park.” She picked up her black clutch from the passenger seat, and slid out of the car by the passenger seat as well; the valet hadn’t moved from the driver’s side. She hoped he wasn’t hyperventilating.

         “Ma’m!” the valet called in a raised and raspy voice, polite, but loud enough to be sure to get her attention. “It’s customary to leave the keys in the ignition. I’m an excellent driver, but I have to admit I’ve never parked a car without car keys.”

         “Oh, right,” Lola said, blushing and feeling like a totally unsophisticated jerk. “Here you go.” She tossed the keys carelessly over the car, then realized what she’d done. Fortunately, the valet caught the keys gracefully, as if it had never occurred to him not to. _Thank God,_ Lola thought. She didn’t even want to think about her father’s reaction if she’d scraped the roof of the Impala.

         “Just let the maître-de know five or ten minutes before you need your car back. I promise to return it as quickly as possible,” he said, looking up at Lola shyly.

         “Um, ok. Are you the only valet? Seems like a lot of cars for one person. What if two people wanted to leave at the same time?” Lola asked.

         The valet smiled. “No, of course not. There’s a fleet of us. We do the hotel as well as the restaurant.”

         “Are you all really good drivers? Cause I promised my Dad I wouldn’t let anyone else behind the wheel. Sometimes I think he loves this car more than he loves me.”

         The valet smiled again. “I highly doubt it. She’s a beauty, but she pales in comparison to her driver.”

         _Is this guy flirting with me?_ Lola thought. _He’s kind of cute. He must meet hundreds of really rich and important people every day. I hope I don’t look like a complete asshole._ She smiled at him, at a loss for the right words.

         “You get the Impala special, kiddo. Just for you. Nevermind about the five or ten minutes in advance. Tell the maître-de when you’re ready to leave and I’ll be here by the time you put on your coat.’

         “But if there’s a whole fleet of valets, how do I know for sure I’ll get you?” asked Lola. She was relieved to be able to talk about less flirtatious subjects.

         “Impala special,” the valet repeated with a smile as he drove off, slightly more quickly than strictly necessary.

         _It **was** a smile, right? Not a leer?_ thought Lola. _And what the hell is a maytra-dee?_ Lola headed toward what appeared to be the door to the restaurant, feeling a bit as if she had stepped through the looking glass.

         Two uniformed men stood on either side of the door, reminding Lola of guards. Before she even reached the door, one of the “guards” was holding it open for her. The other “guard” said “Good evening, Ma’am.”

         “Uh, thanks. You too,” replied Lola. The two men shared a smile even Lola could tell was not flirting but rather slightly amused. They looked at her as if she were a three-year-old. Normally Lola would have made a nasty retort, but she felt too overwhelmed to speak. As soon as the door closed behind her, she was assailed by another three or four employees. One took her coat, another said “Good evening. Pleasure to meet you.”

         Before Lola had the chance to humiliate herself further by responding, a third employee said “I believe there’s a gentleman waiting for you at the bar.” Lola froze. There were several gentlemen sitting at the bar. They all had their backs to her. And even if they didn’t, she had no idea which one of them, if any, was her date. The employee sensed her hesitation and asked “would you like me to escort you?”

         _Fuck yes_ thought Lola, although she replied with a polite “if it’s not too much trouble,” and smiled briefly. She was beginning to get this hang of this. She crooked her elbow slightly and he took her arm and walked her all the way to one end of the bar. The man sitting on the last stool was looking intently out the window, showing her a slightly overweight back and a slightly balding head. The employee soundlessly pulled out the stool next to him, which made a terrible screeching sound as Lola sat and tried to pull in closer to the bar.

         “Charming entrance,” said the man she took to be her date, who was still looking out the window. “I do hope your voice is more pleasant on the ears.” He finally spun around and smiled at Lola, one eyebrow slightly raised.

         “ ** _Santa!!?_** ” Lola shouted, forgetting where she was. Quite a few heads turned. “What the Hell are you doing here? I was expecting a blind date!”

         “Ah, so you remember when we last met?”

         “I should think so. You called me a precious little brat and I bit you in the balls.”

         Her date laughed. “As you have no doubt discerned, I am not Santa Claus. My name is Crowley. And you, I presume, are Lola.”

         “I was expecting a blind date,” said Lola, pouting, “not an ancient overweight balding demon. Why on earth did you go through all that rigmarole just to see me?”

         “Oh dear. The mysterious scented notes, the black and red roses, which, by the way, would look stunning with your outfit, none of that struck you as romantic?” asked Crowley, with a small smile.

         “No, stupid,” said Lola, reverting to childhood terms and giving up all pretense at sophistication. “That’s exactly the point. I did find them romantic. It was exciting. I was really looking forward to tonight,” she said, trailing off slightly at the end.

         “Lolo, Lolo. It isn’t all that dire. I’m not just any demon. I’m the King of Hell, to be precise. I’ve known your family for quite some time. In fact, one might say I am a friend of the family. I assure you, I have only your best interests at heart,” said Crowley. “Where have my manners gone? May I buy you a drink before we head over to our table?”

         Lola sighed. “It’s Lola, not Lolo. And yeah, I guess I'll have a Coke.”

         “I see you also lack a certain je ne sais crois. I had thought Lolo was my pet name for you. It pains me that you dislike it. Far more importantly, this bar has much more to offer than Coca Cola.”

         “I was planning to spike it in the bathroom. I can’t get a real drink. I’m seventeen years old.”

         “Not tonight, you’re not” beamed Crowley. “Take a look at your driver’s license, love.”

         Lola did. It looked the same as always, but her birthdate was three years earlier. It appeared she was twenty-one tonight.

         ‘Drink up while you can,” said Crowley. “You become seventeen again at the stroke of midnight.”

         Lola couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. “Thanks, but I have no idea what to order. What are you drinking?”

         “Craig, but I don’t think you’d care for it. Have a sniff,” Crowley held the shot glass several inches beneath Lola’s nose.

         “Yuck! That’s disgusting. I usually drink vodka, cause it’s pretty much tasteless.”

         “Vodka. We could get you a Grey Goose or Absolut, but I had something more interesting in mind.”

         At this moment the employee who’d led her to the bar asked if now that the lady had arrived, they’d like to move to their table. Crowley make a complicated gesture with his eyebrow that seemed to indicate he wanted the waiter to bring over his bottle and shot glass. As soon as they were seated, the chef came by with the first course. He described in elaborate detail the taste and purpose of each ingredient, as if it were an irreplaceable work of art. Lola was not impressed. What appeared to be one mushroom on a leaf of spinach didn’t seem particularly filling, and she was hungry.

         Crowley smiled at the chef. “Excellent. Could you send someone over with some bread for this one,” he said, nodding at Lola. “And a Long Island Iced Tea.”

         The chef looked insulted. “Tonight’s drink is -”

         “Craig for me and Long Island Iced Tea for the lady. And don't make us wait until the second course.”

         The chef left, and a server arrived immediately with a basket of four warmed miniature loaves of bread and a small plate with a delicate sculpture made of butter. Lola reached for the bread at the same moment that yet another server placed another huge wide glass in front of  her. “Long Island Iced Tea,” he said through his nose, and left.

         “Did you see his expression?” asked Lola. “What did you order for me. Rotgut?”

         “Hardly.” Crowley took a sip of his Craig, swirled it around in his mouth, and swallowed appreciatively. “Try it. It’s good. Very seventeen.”

         Lola took a sip of the beverage and found it delicious. She downed the rest before realizing what she had done.

         “Oops. Sorry. That was really good. Can I have another?” she asked Crowley.

         He made eye contact with the bartender, and a few more eyebrow gestures. Less than a minute later, Lola was staring at another Long Island Iced Tea. She took a sip, then took a tiny loaf of brown bread and haphazardly smeared it with butter. “Wow. Guh.”

         “Don’t talk with your mouth full, child. It’s disgusting.”

         Lola glared at Crowley, swallowed her bread and butter, and took another sip of her drink. It tasted so good, and she was so irritated with Crowley, she tossed back her head and finished it with one swallow.

         “Perhaps you would do better to go a bit slower on the drink?” asked Crowley.

         “Perhaps you would do better to lighten up and stop treating me as if I were raised by wolves?” Lola retorted, spearing and eating her mushroom in one bite. She watched as Crowley carefully cut his into slices. “I thought demons didn't eat,” said Lola.

         “No, demons do not _need_ to eat. We may do so if we choose.”

         “Do you use vessels, like angels?” Lola asked.

         Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Yes, we use meat suits, but demons are not given to imitating angels,”  he said with more than a touch of anger.

         Without Lola noticing, Crowley had apparently ordered her a third Long Island Iced Tea. She was determined to make this one last, and not end up drunk like her father. Several more courses were explained in more time than it took to eat them.

         “So, tell me, what is it like, being seventeen these days? When my son was seventeen, he’d decided to board a ship to find his fortune in the new world. Of course he would have drowned had I not warned him his particular ship would crash, but he still sailed west on a later ship. He started an entirely new life in the colonies, and was a successful entrepreneur by the time he was eighteen.”

         “You have a son??!!” Lola asked, amazed.

         “Had a son. This was in the 1400’s. My wife and son have been deceased for many centuries now,” said Crowley in an unusual monotone.

         “So you had a family?” Lola said. “I had no idea. Was your wife a demon too?”

         “She was not,” replied Crowley in an unpleasant tone of voice. “Nor my son. They had no idea I had been a demon. To all intents and purposes, I became human for the duration of my family. When my wife died, I returned to being a demon. My son was still alive, and thriving at that. But the journey by sea was quite unpleasant, and my son preferred to remain in the New World. Needless to say, I did not cross the ocean myself.”

         “Did you miss your family? Did you miss being human?”

         “Yes and hardly. I’m not a monster. Of course I missed my family. However, I was incredibly relieved to be a demon again. Humans are so dull and limited.”

         “Then why did you get married at all?” asked Lola. Her voice was becoming noticeably slurred.

         “Curiosity, mostly,” answered Crowley. “With the exception of my son, it was extremely unpleasant.”

         “Weird,” said Lola, a bit thoughtlessly. “Can I have uh-nother one of theshe?”

         “Choose your poison,” Crowley responded enigmatically. “When dessert arrives, I will order you one more. One.”

         “S’ok. I wonder what they serve for desshert here? A single bite of ice-cream?”

         Crowley sighed and looked at his watch. “This is becoming tedious. Please make quick work of the drink and dessert. I need to leave soon.”

         “Then leave,” Lola responded. “I have Daddy’sh Impala. I can get myself home.”

         “Not in your condition,” Crowley replied, mostly amused, but with a genuine touch of concern for Lola’s welfare. “Besides, we have another stop to make.”

         “We do?” Lola answered with her mouth full of a tiny slice of chocolate cake. She downed her last Long Island Iced Tea and burped. Lola giggled. “ ‘scuse me.”

         Crowley ignored her burp. He delicately blotted his lips with his napkin, got up and approached Lola. “May I have the honor?” he asked.

         “Huh? Wha’ honor?” Lola managed to say.

         _The honor of breaking your tedious little neck_ , Crowley thought. “The honor of helping you up,” Crowley said aloud, sliding her chair out soundlessly and offering a hand to help her up.

         Lola took Crowley’s hand and leaned against him. She forced him to bear her entire body weight. Lola was small and slender, but Crowley was unpleasantly surprised by her heft. Rather than wait for the check, he left a large amount of cash on the table and walked Lola toward the exit. They were assisted into their coats, and the maître d’ called for Lola’s car. “I assume your father will be driving you home,” he said. “Otherwise I’m afraid I cannot allow you to drive. You are clearly too inebriated to do so yourself.”

         “’Kay,” muttered Lola as she saw the Impala draw up. Sure enough, the same valet was driving her car. His smile became a frown as he realized how drunk Lola had become.

         “Hi. ‘s you. You were right; you are the same valet. You gotta name?” said Lola.

         “Walker,” replied the valet.

         “Will you be driving her home?” Walker asked Crowley. _How many times must I go through this?_ he thought..

         “I do not drive and clearly the young lady is in no condition to do so. I would be quite grateful if you could be so kind as to allow the car to remain overnight? Someone will pick it up  tomorrow,” he concluded, putting a large amount of cash into the valet’s hand. Their hands touched for a moment, making Walker feel nauseated and somehow slightly contaminated.

         “That will be fine,” said Walker. He looked truly concerned about Lola. He’d felt an immediate dislike for the man, and lacked any trust in him. “I'll park the car and call a taxi,” he concluded.

         “That will not be necessary,” responded Crowley. “We will be using alternate transportation.” By now, Lola was leaning into Crowley. She looked as if she'd fall flat on her face if  he moved. _Hurry up_ , thought Crowley. He was loathe to disappear in front of the valet, and wished he would just get in the car and drive.

         “You take care,” Walker told Lola, quite seriously. He searched her face for signs of discomfort, but she presented only one expression. Drunk and falling asleep. Reluctantly, he left Lola with Crowley, got into the Impala, and drove into the garage to find an overnight parking space.

         As soon as Walker had turned into the garage, Crowley and Lola disappeared. In the time Walker took return to tell Lola where to find her car, she and Crowley had disappeared. _That was awfully quick_ , Walker thought. He had made note of the Impala’s registration and license plate, then realized the car keys were in his pocket. He’d return them when he saw Lola tomorrow. If he saw Lola tomorrow. Walker couldn’t shake the sense that something bad was about to happen to her. He vowed to call the contact phone number Lola had scrawled on the contract first thing  tomorrow morning. If he didn’t reach her, he’d get the police to run the license and registration. Something was  not  right, and Walker was troubled with numerous nightmares that night.


	5. All Along the Watchtower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walker can't let go of his trepidation for Lola's safety.
> 
> After telephone runaround, he gets Dean's phone number and reaches Dean. What he says terrifies the brothers.
> 
> Dean sends Walker to the restaurant to get the Impala and drive to Sam's apartment. Fast.
> 
> Dean asks Cas for help, and receives it.

**All Along the Watchtower**

No reason to get excited, the thief he kindly spoke  
There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke  
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate  
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late"

         -Bob Dylan

 

         Walker woke up even more anxious about Lola than he had been the night before. He’d always been slightly psychic. He found it both a blessing and a pain in the neck. Usually his psychic abilities were very mundane, such as knowing exactly how much a large cart of groceries would cost, or that he was going to spill gasoline on his jeans at his usual gas station. In that particular case, he took the trouble to drive to a different gas station, and spilled gasoline on his jeans anyhow. This made him wonder about fate; did it exist, and if so, was it petty enough to ensure that one man would spill gasoline on his jeans? What possible difference, he thought, could spilling gasoline on his pants make in the greater scheme of things?

         Only twice had he foreseen anything important. The first time, he was able save a life. The second time, he was in an airplane when the gruesome details of the abduction and rape of a five-year-old child played out in his head like a movie. He’d been powerless to intervene, and he still felt responsible for the death of that child.

         Thus Walker took his anxiety about Lola very seriously. He skipped his morning shower, leaving a mess of black tangles he kept pushing out of his eyes. He looked for the phone number Lola had scribbled on the valet contract, then realized it would be at work. He was very good at deciphering handwriting. If the contract had already been entered into the computer, the paper copy would have been shredded. He thought it unlikely, but he called work anyhow to see if that specific contract was still in paper format. Joe picked up the phone.

         _Great_ , Walker thought sarcastically. Joe wasn’t known to be overly burdened in the brain department.

         “Can you check a phone number on a valet contract for me?” Walker asked.

         Joe sighed and said “Seriously?”

         “Yes, seriously,” Walker said, and gave Joe the specifics. _Why would I bother calling if it wasn’t serious?_ he thought.

         Joe sighed again and checked the computer. “Yup, it’s right here. That’s weird. The space for the phone number’s blank. Guess someone forgot to enter it, or else, hold on a minute, here it is, Lola. Or else Lola had really bad handwriting. Sorry. Was she a babe?”

         “And you’re sure the paper copy’s been shredded,” Walker responded, not bothering to answer the question about Lola’s physical appearance.

         “Seriously?” Joe repeated. “You want me to dump all the contents of the shredder and see if I can put them together to find one phone number?”

         “Obviously not,” Walker replied. “That’s what shredders are for. To shred paper. So it can’t be read. Could you just take a look on the floor by the computer and shredder?” he asked.

         Joe sighed very loudly. “Hold on a sec. Nope. Just a lot of dust, a car key, the kind that costs about a hundred bucks to replace, a couple wadded up napkins, something that might be-”

         “You can stop now,  Joe. Thanks for the help,” Walker said sardonically, and hung up. He felt safe being rude; he knew the sarcasm would go straight over Joe’s head,

         Walker thought about what he could say to the DMV that didn’t sound suspicious. Everything he thought of sounded suspicious, so he went ahead and called anyhow. He navigated several computerized menus, pressing zero every now and then just in case. By the time he’d gotten to the customer service queue, he had memorized the list of actions he could perform online. None of them included supplying the VIN and license plate of an automobile and finding out who owned it. The computer finally told him “We are experiencing unusually high call volume. The wait time is approximately one hour and 45 minutes. We suggest you call back at a less busy time. Our hours are 9 AM to 5 PM Central time weekdays and 9 AM to 12 PM Saturdays.”  Walter glanced at his watch. Four-forty-five Central Time. _That was a total waste of time_ , he thought, and hung up.

         He tried the local police non-emergency number. A computer told him his call was being recorded, after which an officer picked up right away. The idea of recording a lie to the police didn’t exactly thrill him, but he was desperate. It wasn’t at all hard for him to sound upset; by this time, he didn’t have to fake it.

         “What is your name, sir? asked the officer.

         “Walker Grey.”

         “What’s going on?”

         “I’m a valet for the Morrison restaurant and hotel. I’m calling because a car has been sitting in the parking lot for a week. Cars get stolen from that lot all the time. _That was stupid_ ; he thought. _The police must have a way of verifying that. As far as he knew, no one had ever stolen an abandoned vehicle from the parking lot. Oh well. Too late now._

         “Don’t you use a towing company for that?” asked the police officer.

         “Yes, but I’m really worried something happened to the driver. She told me she’d want her car back after dinner, and it’s been a week. I’m afraid something might have happened to her. She was young, maybe 17, provocatively dressed, although that really shouldn’t matter. But it might. She told me she was meeting someone in the restaurant for a blind date.

         “I saw him walk her out after dinner. He was at least twice her age but not much taller, and there was something off about him. Shady. She was too drunk to drive and he didn’t drive at all. I asked them to wait while I moved the car to an overnight spot, but when I got back, they were gone. To be honest, I’m afraid he might have taken her against her will.

         “I just want the name, or even the phone number, of the car’s owner, so I can call and set my mind at ease.”

         There was a pause, after which the police officer said “Alight. I believe you. But you call 911 right away if you suspect there’s been any foul play. Do you know the license plate?”

         “Yes. I even copied the VIN.” He recited the license plate and VIN.

         “Ok. I’m gonna put you on hold while I call the DMV.”

         Walker assumed the DMV answered police calls more quickly than regular calls. He was right. Several minutes later the officer was back on the line. “You still there?” he asked.

         “Definitely.”

         “Ok,” said the officer. The car’s a black ’67 Impala registered to a Dean Winchester, phone number 913-555-6660. Don’t hesitate to call if you find anything the least bit suspicious. My name is Lt. Joseph McCowly. Ask for me.”

         “Thank you, officer. I’ll be sure to call you if anything seems off.”

         “I wish more people were as responsible as you.”

         “Me too,” answered Walker.

         “All right then. Good luck,” said the officer, and hung up.

         Walker immediately placed the call, and someone picked up after one ring.

         “What?” replied an angry voice.

         “My name is Walker Grey. I’m looking for a Dean Winchester.”

         “You found him. Why did you call?”

         “I’m a valet at the Morrison restaurant. A young woman arrived in your Impala last night. I just want to make sure she arrived home safely.”

         “She’s not here. I figured she hooked up with her date and spent the night. Without calling. What’s it to you?

         “I’m worried about her. She left the restaurant at around ten last night, drunk out of her mind. She could barely stand. She and her date didn’t seem to like each other. There was something off about him, something not quite right.”

         “Describe him,” said Dean, with a lump in his throat.

         “He was at least twice her age. Short, a little on the heavy side, hair combed to hide balding. I don’t know, there was just-”

         “Di- did he have an English accent?” Dean interrupted. He could hear his voice shaking, and felt his heart pounding way too fast.

         “Yeah, now that you mention it, he did.”

         “Oh shit. Crowley. I never should have-. Jesus Christ. Sam!” he shouted, away from the phone. “Crowley’s got Lola!”

         “What?!” Sam rushed into the kitchen. “How do you know? Where’s he got her?”

         “I don’t have a fucking clue. She could be anywhere. He could have taken her to Hell for all I know. Shit, man, I gotta find her and I don’t even have Baby to look with. What the fuck am I gonna do?”

         “Is Baby the name of your car?” Walker asked. He hadn’t hung up and had heard everything.

         “Yeah,” said Dean. “Fuck it. He probably has the car, too.”

         “No, he doesn’t,” said Walker. “She’s right where I parked her. I still have the keys in my pocket.”

         “You have the Impala and the keys? How fast can you get here?”

         “I don’t know. It depends on where you live.”

         Dean gave him the address. “You can make it here in ten minutes.”

         “I’m not at the restaurant,” said Walker, who thought it would take a lot longer than ten minutes to drive from the restaurant to Dean’s home.

         “Well get the fuck over there, get Baby, and drive here. Fast. I need my car. Now.”

         “I can leave in about five minutes,” said Walker, a bit put off. But Dean sounded wild with worry.

         “No. You can get off your ass and leave right now. I mean it. NOW. Get off the fucking phone and drive.” Dean hung up, half terrified, half furious.

         “Dean, it’s not his fault,” said Sam.

         “It could be Jesus Christ’s fault for all I care. Shit. There are so many things Crowley could be doing to her. Fuck it, Sam, what am I gonna do?! I knew I shouldn’t have let her go on that date.” Dean was pacing back and forth through the kitchen, as if moving would make Walker arrive sooner.

         “I gotta call Cass. He’ll be mad as fuck all, but I don’t give a damn.”

         Dean got his other phone and called.

         “Dean, I was just there yesterday. I’m commanding a troop of fifty angels here and I can’t just take off and-“

         “Crowley’s got Lola.”

         “Do you know where they are?” asked Cas, standing in front of the refrigerator. He looked pale, even for an angel.

         “No. Do you?” Dean snapped.

         “I don’t know. Give me a minute.” Cass disappeared for about 30 seconds. Which seemed like thirty hours to Dean.  “I think I’ve got a fix on them.” He paused.

         “So where the hell are they?”

         “That’s just it,” Cass said, clearly reluctant to tell Dean what he knew. Dean glared at him. “He’s in Hell. Lola’s with him.”

         Dean sat down suddenly. It was either that or faint. “Lola’s in Hell. With Crowley,” he said.

         “I’m sorry, but it looks that way,” said Castiel.

         The doorbell rang. Sam opened it.

         “Your car is parked right outside,” said Walker. “Here’s the keys.” He gave them to Sam.

         “Actually I’m Dean’s brother. Dean’s in the kitchen.”

         “About fucking time,” Dean said. Walker was trying to stay calm; he knew something very bad was going down. But even he had his limits.

         “You’re fucking welcome,” Walker told Dean.

         “He can’t help it,” Castiel said, in Dean’s defense. “His daughter is in Hell. Literally. With the King of Hell himself.”

         “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Walker responded.

         “I wish I were,” said Cas. He sounded more desolate than Dean and Sam had ever heard.

         “Can you take us to Hell?” Sam asked.

         “I’m not sure,” Castiel replied. “The war has used up a lot of my power. It will come back, but I don’t know how much is left right now. I’m not certain I can transport all of us to Crowley’s Kingdom. It was hard enough alone. Are you coming too?” he asked Walker.

         “If it’s ok,”  he replied.

         “We’re gonna need all the help we can get,” Dean replied. “You ready, Cas?”

         “It will be easier if all of you touch me.” Sam and Walker each put a hand on one of Cas’s shoulders. Dean and Cas shared an intense look. Dean took one of Cas’s hands, and Cas squeezed it tight. A moment later they all disappeared.


	6. Lake of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, Castiel and Walker arrive in Hell.
> 
> They are all fraught to the bone about Lola and start taking it out on each other.
> 
> Castiel may have a plan for finding Lola. He cannot use angel GPS in Hell.
> 
> Dean is past angry and so furious the others are worried about him.

**Lake of Fire**

Where do bad folks go when they die?  
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly  
They go to the lake of fire and fry  
Won't see them again 'till the fourth of July  
  
Now the people cry and the people moan  
And they look for a dry place to call their home  
And try to find some place to rest their bones  
While the angels and the devils try to make them their own

  
Where do bad folks go when they die?  
They don't go to heaven where the angels fly  
They go down to the lake of fire and fry  
Won't see them again 'till the fourth of July  
     -The Meat Puppets

 

 

         The second they arrived, Dean got a call. “What?”

         “Someone’s telephone manners need a little refreshing.”

         “Fuck you, Crowley. WHERE IS SHE??”

         “Here’s where it gets just a wee bit tricky, Crowley replied. “It’s better if we talk in person.”

         “Then get your fat ass over here. Now. WHAT DO YOU WANT?” There was a long silence. “You did NOT just hang up on me, Crowley.” But he had.

         Dean stamped his foot in frustration. He hit recent calls and punched in Crowley. No answer. He had to find Lola. Fast, No telling what kind of trouble she might be in. He tried Crowley again and, predictably, got the same idiotic message he’d just heard about the King of Hell. Dean shifted his weight from side to side in his impatience for Crowley's typically vain outgoing message to end. Ironically, he looked looked like a little kid who had to pee, not a father who was seeing red and frantic about his daughter. Finally he heard the beep and said “If you harm one hair on her head, you are so going to regret it. Call me or get your fucking ass here. Not in one minute. Not in 30 seconds. FUCKING NOW!!!”” They were already in Hell. How long could it take for Crowley to show up?

         Dean started pacing again. He couldn’t stand around waiting for the chance that Crowley would call back. Dean wanted Lola and he wanted her now.

         Meanwhile, Walker was still adjusting to the idea that Hell was real. If he had had any doubts, they abated with the sweat pouring from his forehead. The niches with lewd statues holding flaming torches helped create there were people who appeared out of nowhere because ancient ambience. But Hell? Still, if there were people who disappeared in a breath, as he'd seen Crowley and Lola do on Earth, Hell wasn't all that far-fetched. Walker dashed out of the way quickly, to avoid being hit by Dean, who was still pacing.

         Dean tried the phone number again, and hung up on the OGM. No more of this helpless waiting around.

         “OK. Let's get going. Walker, you’re not-“

         Castiel interrupted, “I’ve been thinking. There may be a way to find Lola and free her from Crowley’s grip. It’s a very old and dangerous spell, so we'll have to be extremely careful. Fortunately, all the ingredients are right here in Hell.” Sam and Walker exchanged an anxious glance. Castiel began explaining what they'd need. He was cut off by Dean, who wanted to look for Lola immediately. “Do you have any idea how big Hell is?” Castiel asked.

         “No. what difference does it make? We can split up and-”

         “You could search for weeks and not find her. My way is faster.”

         “Unless it don't work. Then we've wasted all this time we coulda been looking.”

         Castiel sighed. “Dean. Remember how big Heaven is? Hell is at least as big, maybe more. You could run for weeks and not find her.”

         “You got a fix on her she that she was in Hell. Get a fix on her now.”

         “Dean, those are not the same at all. And what makes you think Crowley will just let her go?”

         “He won’t be able to move after I get ahold of him.” Dean was clearly going crazy doing nothing.

         “If you want to be helpful, get me the ingredients of the spell. There’s a cupboard down this hall to the right that has a great many potions. I’d start there."

         "Well then why the Hell don't **you** start there? Since when was I your fucking errand boy?"      

          Castiel sighed and patiently reminded Dean that it was a complicated and dangerous spell, and he'd have a better chance of remembering all the steps in the correct order if he stood quietly and thought, 

         Dean shot off to look for the ingredients for the spell. He felt as if he were in slow motion. When he wasn’t thinking of Lola, he was deriving great satisfaction from the thought of repeatedly punching Crowley in the nose. Hard. He wanted to see Crowley’s blood.

         Castiel, Sam and Walker exchanged a look. Walker was a quick study and seemed to understand the situation remarkably well. Crowley wouldn’t have gotten in touch if Lola wasn’t safe and he didn’t have a ransom demand. The brothers were always broke, and being a valet was not not the best job for getting rich fast. None of them had any idea what Crowley might do (or worse, might have already done) to her. He was unpredictable. If Dean killed Crowley and Lola wasn’t there, they may never find her. The situation was volatile, and required grace and patience. Neither of which were among Dean's salient characteristics at best. He was not at his best. The effects of the Mark of Cain and the first blade, even though he no longer bore them, were still still strong. Like Crowley, Dean was unpredictable. And violent. That was the most dangerous problem. The three of them were worried about a lot more than just Lola and Crowley.


	7. Helter Skelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone takes a trip to Hell
> 
> Lola has some very interesting experiences
> 
> Other events ensue which would all be chapter spoilers

**Helter Skelter**

When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide  
And I stop and I turn and I go for a ride  
And I get to the bottom and I see you again  
Yeah yeah yeah

Look out helter skelter helter skelter  
Helter skelter  
    - The Beatles

 

 

         The first thing Lola did when she entered Hell was throw up. “Not on the shoes!” Crowley said, as he backed away from her. Lola held her own hair back while she continued to empty her stomach, until she reached the dry heaves stage. Remaining vertical became problematic. Lola would rather die than lean on Crowley. She looked around for a place to sit. This part of Hell looked like the inside of a cave. Lola had never been spelunking; she was entranced. She was also about to fall over. She looked around for a horizontal stone to sit on, but it was quite dark. All the light seemed to come from fascinating but disturbing little statues in natural alcoves, lighting the environs with fiery torches. She reached out to steady herself, burned her finger on one of the statuette’s torches, and gave up, plopping down on the floor. Her crossed legs provided an unimpeded view of her nearly transparent underwear, and what was beneath it.

         Crowley couldn’t care less. He was still offended by the odor of vomit. “Would you care to freshen up,” he said, somewhere between a question and order. Lola nodded, causing another wave of nausea.

         “Do you need to be escorted to the guest bathroom?” Crowley asked, trying to avoid the noxious possibility.

         “Please?” she asked, sounding like a five-year-old girl who knew she had done something bad but still needed help.

         “Very well.” Crowley sighed and reluctantly led her to the guest bathroom. Demons had no use for bathrooms, but human “visitors” often required them. Crowley stopped in front of a large stone door. He kicked it open and looked at Lola. “I assume you no longer require my assistance. I shall  be waiting for you here.”

         Lola could have used a bit of help from a friend, even her father or a stranger. Anyone but Crowley. She entered the stone door and gasped. Statues of copulating humans in alcoves covered the walls. Some of them were entwined in ways Lola had never thought possible. She expected to feel disgust, but now that her body felt better, she actually found the stone couples intriguing. She touched a large stone penis, and grinned. She could feel her demon blood running warm through her veins.

         Then she recalled where she was, and why she was there. A sink entirely made of stone, even the faucet, ran dry and hiccupped for a while, then produced a stream of what Lola hoped was water. She put her entire head under the faucet and turned it on full force. There was no soap, but still was able to rinse her hair, hands, and face. When she was finished, she felt bedraggled but clean. There were no towels, so she shook out her hair like a dog, and stood dripping on the bathroom floor.

         As she walked toward the door, the statues seemed to have changed. She was certain that a female statue touched her shoulder and invited her into her alcove. Lola assumed this was one of Hell’s many entrapments, but the hand caressing her shoulder was difficult to resist. _How much damage can one statue do?,_ she wondered. She put her hand on the statue’s, and let herself be drawn in.

         The arch seemed much larger on the inside. The stone woman sat Lola on a bench and massaged her breasts through the light lace fabric. Lola’s demon blood was singing. Lola helped undress herself, until she was as naked as the statue. _How can stone feel so soft?_ she wondered, as she locked thighs with the statue and abandoned herself to its ministrations. This was Lola’s first sexual contact with anyone but herself, and she liked it. She surrendered to one orgasm after another until she heard Crowley’s  voice. “Have you died in there? Hurry up. We’re only just getting started.” The statue to whom she had just surrendered herself became stone in an alcove again. Lola found her clothing on the floor and dressed quickly. She glanced in a mirror, thought “Oh well,” and stepped out the door.

         Crowley was waiting a modest three or four feet from the open door. Upon seeing Lola, he broke into a wide grin, and his deep brown eyes sparkled. “I see you have partaken of some of the carnal delights of the guest bathroom,” he said, deepening Lola’s flushed face from pinkish red to near violet. “Don’t worry yourself, little Lolo,” he continued. “Those old souls adore a willing young cherry like you. You’ve made their millennium.”

         Just as she was thinking Hell had a bad rep, Lola began to feel ill again. “You mean those statues were human once? And you forced them and their souls to stay here, for, forever?”

         “They all chose this afterlife from a collection of other possibilities” said Crowley.

         “Those must have been some God-awful alternatives,” Lola said, her voice slightly uneven.

         “We _are_ in Hell,” Crowley said with amusement. “What did you expect? Barbie dolls and My little ponies?”

         “I didn’t **expect** to be in Hell at all,” Lola responded angrily. “I don’t know why you brought  me here, but I’d like to go home now, please.”

         “And miss out on all the fun?” Crowley said as he activated a wall of monitors, which had been statuettes a moment earlier. “Where’s Waldo?” he asked, as he pointed to the monitors. One showed her Dad and Uncle Sammy looking through a cupboard, putting small bottles in their pockets every now and then. To Lola’s horror, one screen showed Walter, talking with Castiel and leaving the room. Castiel had his own monitor, clearly showing his expression of doubt and consternation.

         Lola felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Is all this real? Are they really in Hell?”

         “Are you?” asked Crowley, with a smiling eyebrow.

         Lola felt dizzy, as if the cave were spinning.

         “This isn’t true,” she said scrunching her eyes shut tight, “None of this is real. None of it. My family is home. I’m home, in my bed, sleeping. I don’t know where Walker is. But not here. None of us are here. This is all in my head. A dream. I’m gonna wake up at home.” She opened her eyes, half expecting to see her family and her home. As she’d  known all along, she was still in Hell. Hell wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined; all she’d known about it had been written and illustrated by humans. She was all right, actually quite fascinated, but her family and, she assumed, Walker did not have any demon blood. _They must be terrified,_ she thought.

         “No need to fret, little one. You’ll be leaving soon enough. It’s not you I’m after. You, my sweet little darling freak, are simply a means to an end.”

         “What do you mean?” Lola asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

         “Now who would you imagine I’d like some alone time with. Not your angel Castiel, nor the seemingly intrepid valet.”

         “His name is Walker,” Lola answered, anger temporarily replacing fear. “And you are not so much as touching my father. If you won’t send them back, I’ll figure out a way to do it myself.”

         “Really,” Crowley said sarcastically.

         Lola’s focus returned to the monitors. “What are they doing?” Lola asked. “You’ve got them doing your dirty work?”

         “Hardly. I suspect they’re making some spell they think they can use to escape. Unlikely it will accomplish anything.”

         “No,” Lola said from behind a crumbling wall of decision. “You are not keeping them here to turn them into statues with souls, or something even worse. No. That is so not going to happen. Especially to my father.”

         Of course Dean was exactly who Crowley had in mind as a partner. Time and boredom would wear him down until he literally begged for Crowley’s attention.

         “You’re adorable when you’re angry, my pet,” said Crowley. He snapped his fingers and Lola was another statuette, holding a burning  torch.

         “Stop it!!” Lola yelled at the top of her lungs, totally inaudible. She shut her eyes, and instead of shouting, concentrated all her attention on the word “NO.” She gave it her all. She looked down and saw she was herself again. The statuette she had been locked in stood as it had for ages, holding a torch burning fire that, like the other torches, never went out.

         “Don’t you **ever** do that to me again,” Lola said a bit too quietly for Crowley’s tastes. “I swear, I will kill you if you so much as think about it.”

         Crowley normally would surrender to fury just about now, driving Lola back into a statuette for good, enclosing her alcove with a large stone. Instead, he struggled just to hold his own. What saved him was anger at being bested. No one else he’d ever taken to Hell had reacted with anything but fear and begging.

         “Fine,” Crowley barked. “Your family’s chances of survival will improve dramatically if you follow my lead. Hell is quite large and circuitous, and you can easily get lost forever if you’re not paying attention.”

         “Do you really think I would be that stupid?” Lola spat out.

         “I’m not sure,” Crowley answered  honestly.

         “I don’t think time and space work the same down here,” Lola mused. It had felt as if she’d spent hours with the female statue in the bathroom, but she was beginning to suspect that no time at all had passed between them. It wouldn’t surprise her if the bathroom was no longer there at all. “So I doubt that other rules of physics we take for granted on Earth apply in Hell.”

         Crowley was fascinated by how intuitively Lola understood the basic rules of Hell. No one else had had a clue, other than his mother.

         Lola studied the monitors for a bit, and looked around her, carefully. Yes. She was pretty certain that statuette in the monitor had the same six toes as the one at the end  of the hall. She walked slowing, examining each statuette’s foot. She took a brief look around, then resumed walking in the same direction she had been. _Yes!_ She saw the toe of  her boot in the monitor. She quickly pulled back her boot. Crowley’s reaction was critical. Oddly enough, she no longer heard his breathing behind her. She turned around, marking the monitor by scratching the wall underneath with a small, sharp stone. She was pretty sure her family had come to Hell on their own, to rescue  her. Sweet, but they were the ones who needed rescue. She looked over her shoulder once more; still no Crowley. She was under no illusion that he was gone for good, so she acted quickly.

         Lola slipped into the room with Castiel. “Don’t worry, Cas,” she said, causing him to turn around and splash himself with the brew he’d been stirring.

         “Lola!” Castiel cried out. “I am very glad to see you,” giving Lola an uncharacteristic hug. “But you shouldn’t be down here. I probably have just enough juice to take you home,” the angel said.

         “Thanks, Cas, but no thanks,” Lola responded. “I’m not leaving without my family. And Walker,” she added, blushing slightly.  “So what’re you doing?” Lola asked. “Mixing a Go Directly to Earth” brew?”

         “I recognize the source of that comment. It’s from the game Monopoly. Its true phrasing is “Go directly to jail. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200.”

         Lola gave Cas a strange look.

         “I played that game in the activities room when I was in a mental hospital.”

         Lola decided it best to let it be. She stuck a finger in the brew and tasted it. “Not so bad,” she remarked.

         Castiel looked at her, astonished. “Never drink an unfinished potion,” he told her. “You’re lucky you’re not dead.”

         “From wormwood, castor bean and atropa belladonna? I don’t think so. Maybe if I drank the entire pot,” Lola replied. “I thought you were preparing something to get us out of here. You’re not going to try to kill Crowey, are you? I don’t think that would end very well.”

         “Not kill him,” said Castiel. “Just knock him out for a while so we can look for a way out.”

         “I’m pretty sure I’ve figured that one out,” said Lola. “But you should definitely add a healthy dose of plantain. And foxglove. And something strong to cover the taste. Where’s my Daddy?” she asked out of the blue. “Are he and Uncle Sammy and Walker still searching through the herbs closet?

         “How did you know that?” asked Castiel. Lola pointed to a statuette that, on closer examination, hid a video camera.

         Castiel laughed. “Video cameras. In Hell. Only Crowley-“ He stopped mid-sentence as Crowley burst into the room.

         “Speak of the devil,” Lola said. “Or at least of the wanna-be.”

         “You filthy little wench,” he yelled at Lola. “It’s not as easy to get out of Hell as you think. But I don’t really mind one more vermin crawling about the depths of Hell. It’s your father I want.”

         Castiel’s eye narrowed as he stared contemptuously at the demon. “You really think Dean would willingly,” he looked down at Lola, “submit to your desires?”

         “Never in a million years,” said Dean, starting to remove the vials from his pockets. “Lola!” he shouted as he caught sight of his daughter. They literally ran into each other, hugging for what seemed to last an eternity. Sam and Walker showed up, arguing over the contents of an unlabeled vial. “It’s got to be more deadly foxglove, Sam argued. “It smells exactly the same as the first-” He stopped talking when he saw Lola. “You found  her!” he exclaimed.

         “More like she found us,” Dean replied.

         Walker trailed in,  bringing up the rear. “I couldn’t find any- Lola!” he interrupted himself, blushing a deep red.  How’d you find us?” he asked.

         “Video cameras,” she  said, pointing up. “Apparently Hell has the  the same technology as Earth.”

         “It seems to have escaped your notice,” said Crowley, “that I am still here. I think I’ll get rid of Castiel first. The quintessential angel of lore.”

         “I don’t think so,” said Castiel, shooting a not very powerful beam at Crowley. The demon staggered backwards for a bit, then steadied himself and sent a shot of demon energy at Cas. The angel’s back hit the wall as he struggled to stand.

         “Cut it out, Crowley,” said Lola as she sent the potion flying at him. Quite a bit entered his mouth, which was gaping wide open. “Take a hike,” said Lola. She touched his forehead with two fingers, and he immediately collapsed on the floor.

        “I have no idea how much time we’ve got,” said Lola, “or how strong my angel blood is, so let’s get going. Daddy first.” She disappeared with Dean and reappeared a moment later. Sam and Walker were still staring. “Cas, do you have enough juice to get yourself out of here?” she asked.

         “I don’t know,” Castiel replied. “Just myself, maybe. But I don’t think I can take anyone with me.” He looked pale and slightly embarrassed.

         “Here,” Lola said, sending a very small beam of light blue grace at the angel. Crowley began to moan. “Hurry up,” said Lola. “Cas, just worry about getting yourself out of here. I'll take Sam and Walker.”  She glanced at Crowley, who was sitting up holding his head. Castiel disappeared. “Sam, Walker,” Lola said a bit tersely. “Each of you take a hand.”

         Crowley rubbed his eyes. “Now!” Lola shouted as Crowley began to stagger toward standing up. Sam took Lola’s right hand, and Lola grabbed Walker with her left. Lola took a deep breath, and the three of them were gone. Lola laughed with as the room emptied of everyone but Crowley.

        


	8. Black Magic Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lola finds that her experience in Hell has far-reaching consequences
> 
> Walker and Lola are going out together, but Lola prefers Walker's sister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any of the characters or concepts of Supernatural  
> I also do not own any of the music that begins each chapter

Got a black magic woman  
Got a black magic woman  
I got a black magic woman  
Got me so blind I can't see

That she's a black magic woman  
She's tryin' to make a devil out of me  
    - Santana

 

 

         Life continued, strangely, as if nothing had happened. That is, unless you looked too closely. Lola had proclaimed herself an adult. She was embarrassed at her father’s impotence in an emergency. She was ashamed of her father, and distanced herself as far as possible from him. Not surprisingly, he took refuge in his whiskey, while Sam remained glued to his laptop. She and Walker took up dating. Walker was truly fascinated with this inexplicable girl. Lola found him rather dull, but at least he was an excuse to get out of the house. The sex was boring. She far preferred her experience with the statue in Hell. In fact, she far preferred Walter’s younger sister, Grace, to Walter. Lola insisted on dating at the apartment Walker shared with his sister when his parents were out of town, which was quite often. Nothing to write home about, yet home was nothing to write home about, either. She missed Crowley and Hell.

         One evening at Walker’s, Grace developed a craving for Ethiopian food. _Hormones_ , Lola thought, remembering her own short puberty. Grace was sixteen, at the far end of puberty but not quite yet a finished young woman. So malleable. Lola thought Grace had a crush on her. There for the picking. The closest Ethiopian restaurant was a good half hour away. Walker sighed. He’d learned there was no arguing with puberty. He’d hoped to spend a quiet evening at home, watching a movie with Lola and Grace, who followed Lola everywhere like a puppy. Everywhere except bed. Walker had made that indisputably clear the first time Grace walked in on them, “looking for her hairbrush.” “Too bad,” Lola said after Grace left. “That would have made for an interesting threesome.” Walker looked at her in shock, his mouth literally hanging open. “She’s my _sister_ , for God’s sake.”

         “And that matters how?” said Lola, derisively. “She’s adorable,” Lola answered unperturbed. “But you’ll do,” she said,  with a lewd grin. And he did, just barely.

=====

         Walker was neither in the mood for Ethiopian for nor a long ride with Lola and his sister, but he sighed and said “Good enough. It’s cold out. Get your coats on.”

         Lola stared at him, trying to suppress a smile. “Oh Walker, Walker,” she said. “Surely you weren’t expecting a little family trip to the restaurant? You’re a valet. Not all that different from picking up takeout, I’d think. Grace, there’s a standoff at the OK Corral here. What’s your vote?”

         Grace blushed and said “I was sneezing all day in school,” she replied, although she hadn’t sneezed all evening. “I have an important test tomorrow. I can’t be sick for it. I don’t think going out in the cold is a great idea.”

         Walker shrugged. “Colds don’t develop from weather. They’re viral. But ok. You want take-out, you got takeout.” The three of them poured over the restaurant’s website, blocking each others view. Lola elbowed Walker, hard, in the side.

         “Ladies first,” she said as she pushed Walter away. Eventually they decided, and ordered online. “Don’t forget to pick up some booze on the way home,” Lola sneered. “The rotgut in you refrigerator might be useful for cleaning toilets, not that you ever do, but it’s not touching my mouth. “What you say, Grace? I’m in the mood for absinthe.” Walker cringed at the expense. “Oh stop complaining,” Lola said, as she pulled a wad of  crumpled bills from her very visible black lace bra. “This should cover it.”

         Walker organized the bills, his eyes growing wider. “This is way too much.”

         “Keep the change as a tip. And get a move on, will you? I’m starving,” Lola said, looking lasciviously at Grace. Walker threw on his long black wool coat, one of the reasons Lola kept dating him. He put on his black fedora, and Lola felt her underpants become slightly wet. “God you look killer hot in that coat and hat. You should wear it all the time. _All_ the time,” she added, making Walker blush. _This family sure seems prone to blushing,_ Lola thought. “Out. Get outta here, she said, quickly massaging Walker’s but as she pushed him out the door.

         “Well, _that’s_ done. Your brother is crazy slow. So what’s on your mind?” she asked, caressing Grace’s breasts. “This good, or you want something more comfortable?” Grace could hardly breathe. She couldn’t fathom how someone like Lola could possibly want her.” “Come on, little girl. I won’t bite. Maybe. I like Walker’s bedroom,” she said, picking up Grace with her enormous angel strength, and depositing her on her back on Walker’s bed. “Comfy bed and just a taste of wrong.” She shed her clothing in two seconds flat. “Too bad these have to come off. So sexy," Lola said as she took her time unfastening Grace’s black lace bra and dress, both of which opened at the front. The dress had a long series of buttons, some of which were already undone. Grace made short work of the rest. “Sweet little girl. Did you dress up for me?” she asked with a leer.

         Grace blushed again and said “Would it bother you if I said yes?”

         “Hell no,” answered Lola. She and Grace had fooled around a bit in the past, but Lola was in full gear. Judging from the gasps and attempts to imitate Lola, Grace was definitely enjoying herself. Lola slapped Grace’a hands as began began to explore Lola’s curves. “Did I say you could touch me? Hands off, little one. I’ll let you know when you can touch back. Meanwhile, just like back and enjoy, sweetie. Shouldn’t to _too_ hard, you think?” Lola took care to bring her almost to the point of no return, then stop touching her for a few seconds to prolong Grace’s pleasure. When she finally did come, loud and long, Lola took her hands in her own and made no attempt to conceal her readiness for Grace. Who performed quite well, despite it being her first time.

         They heard the front door open, and Grace froze. “Oh my silly little girl,” Lola responded, removing all thought from Grace’s mind.

         “Dinner’ here,” they heard Walker announce, a bit muffled from behind the closed bedroom door. Lola again brought Grace almost to the point of no return, then gently kissed her, ran her fingers through hair, and slapped her hands again when, in her desperation, Grace tried to touch herself.

         “Where are you guys?” Walter asked. “Dinner’s gonna get cold.” He set the containers on the kitchen table, along with a very expensive bottle of absinthe. “Come on. The smell’s driving me crazy.” He began opening doors at random, looking for the girls.

         When Lola heard the bedroom doorknob begin to turn, she pressed her body against Grace, her hands strategically placed to elicit another orgasm. Grace cried out even louder than before, adding a few comments; “Oh my God, oh my _God_ , Oh Lola you are _so_ amazing.”

         Lola stared straight into Walker’s eyes, her own eyes beginning to go black at the edges. She took  deep breath and made sure her pupils stayed green. It was impossible to tell how much of his horror came from the view of his sister, which he knew would never fade, or whether he even noticed Lola’s eyes.

         “Out! Now! Get your filthy evil hands off my sister and get out of my house!”

         “Bye, sweetie,” Lola said, then planted an almost chaste kiss on her lover’s mouth. She grabbed her clothes and left the room, taking the bottle of absinthe with her. Naked except for Walker’s coat and hat, which she couldn’t resist wearing, she walked through the hallway to the elevator, then to her father’s Impala. _Oh shit,_ Lola thought as she dumped her clothes in the unlocked car and searched for the car keys. She sat down, bemused, on the passenger seat and smiled when she felt something hard pressing against her ass through Walker’s coat. _Oh man,_ she thought, _Daddy would kill me if he knew I’d left his little Baby unlocked._ She slid over to the driver’s seat and headed home, remembering to stop at a closed gas station, walk around the back, and get dressed. _“Shit,_ she thought as she realized she’d left her shoes in Walker’s bedroom. _Oh well, she thought, what’s that stupid aphorism Uncle Sammy keeps telling Daddy? Don’t sweat the things you can’t change? Close enough._ She suspected that her stocking feet were the least of what her Daddy would notice when she showed up. She parked the car superbly, in a tiny spot which left only inches in front and in back of the car. She didn’t care that her Daddy wouldn’t be able to move the car out of the space. _Such is life,_ she thought, as she threw the keys in Walker’s coat  pocket and immediately took them out again to let herself into the building’s front door _._


	9. Carry that Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !!! WARNING !!! !!! WARNING !!! !!! WARNING !!! !!! WARNING !!! !!! WARNING !!! !!! WARNING !!! !!! WARNING !!!
> 
> This chapter contains graphic violence and death of a major character.  
> Please do not read unless you are comfortable with very difficult subject matter.  
> Seriously. Scary awful bad things happen. Really. Death can be beautiful and natural, or it can be terrifying and awful (and a lot of stuff in between). The ending chapter is about as horrible as death can be. So *please* don't read it if that sort of thing upsets you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own neither any characters nor concepts taken from SuperNatural.  
> I also do not own any of the music which starts each chapter

Boy, you're going to carry that weight,  
Carry that weight a long time  
Boy, you're going to carry that weight  
Carry that weight a long time  
     - The Beatles

 

         Lola was not disappointed at her greeting.

         “Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?” her father asked, his eyes black and shining.

         “Obviously not,” Lola replied. She let her eyes go black, too. “Too late for Daddy’s little girl to be out in the big bad world?”

          “This isn’t funny, Lolita. You could have gotten yourself killed. What the fuck do I have to do to convince you that you’re not invincible?”

         “Well, you could start by not being such an impotent waste of space when we need you," she responded. “And letting up a bit on the whisky wouldn’t hurt. Your breath stinks.” Dean slapped her face, for the first time in her life.

         “I see,” said Lola. “Proving your ability to slap my face in the security of your own home. How manly.”

         Dean took a slug of whiskey from the table by the front door. His face turned bright red, his eyes completely black. His face was so contorted he was almost unrecognizable. Everyone in the room backed away slightly, without realizing what they were doing. Sammy prayed that the Mark sickness wasn’t returning. Lola looked concerned, even a bit frightened.

         Neither Lola nor Sammy were ready for what came next.

         Dean  growled and attacked his own daughter. He leapt at her and shoved her to the floor.

         “Daddy?!” Lola cried out at the same time Uncle Sammy said “Dean. Stop. What the hell are you doing?”

         Dean seemed deaf to both of them. He no longer had the need to carry a knife or firearm, but he was very strong, and his body alone proved to be an excellent weapon. He grabbed his daughter’s throat as she lay powerless under him. “Wanna talk back to your daddy now?” Dean asked Lola, grinning in success. “No yelling for help, you little freak,” he continued as he grabbed her throat so tightly she could barely breathe, let alone shout.

         Sam had been watching, astounded. The moment he began to ask Cas to come, the angel was there. “I could hear you all screaming in Heaven,” Castiel said. He took a quick look around him, not believing what he saw.

         “Dean!” he shouted. “She’s your daughter. Get off her!”

         Dean continued squeezing Lola’s throat as if he hadn’t heard Castiel. In his fury, he might not have.

         Castiel seemed to fly to the two Winchesters. He pulled Dean off his daughter as if he were a speck of dust. He cringed when he saw the red finger sized indentation around Lola’s neck, matching her red curls.

         Without a word of thanks to Castiel, Lola sent her father flat against the far wall. She didn’t bother to keep him there, so he fell into a sitting position on the floor, looking as if he had no idea what was going on. Sam rushed over to his brother, only to be smacked against the wall by Lola. He hit the wall on the back of his head and slid down, falling head first to the floor.

         “What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” Castiel asked Lola. Her eyes were totally back. She raised her hands to send Castiel flying toward a wall, but he didn’t move. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” Castiel told Lola in a completely calm tone of voice. “I am infinitely older and stronger than you. You do not want to test me.”

         “You know, I think you’ve got a point there,” Lola said, as she spent her full attention on Dean and Sam, lifting them from the floor and immediately smashing them into the wall again. “This is fun,” Lola said as Cas ran to Dean and held him, checking for signs of life. When he couldn’t find any, he touched his fingers to Dean’s forehead. Nothing happened. He looked over his shoulder at Lola, all red hair and black eyes. Castiel was beginning to feel removed from the scene. _Maybe this is what dreams are like, he thought_.

               “It’s getting pretty boring around here,” Lola said. Here eyes were impenetrable black. She gave Castiel a skeletal grin. “I think I’m gonna head back to Hell for awhile,” she continued. “I like it there, and I’ve got to find Crowley and tell him how his experiment turned out.”

         “I’m right here, love,” said Crowley from behind Lola. She turned to stare at him. “My experiment seems to have yielded all sorts of unexpected benefits. Quite fascinating, even more than I’d hoped for." He turned to look Lola in the eye. “So unfortunate you were born the wrong sex,” he said, staring at a few hickeys from Grace in addition to Lola’s swollen red throat. “But, as Mother always says, you make do with what you have. Coming?” he asked Lola. He disappeared, almost immediately followed by Lola.

         “Toodles,” she said over her shoulder as she disappeared.

=====

         Castiel held Dean on his lap. He couldn’t believe Dean was dead. If he couldn’t bring Dean back to life, he doubted that anyone else could. Maybe God, if he still existed. He looked over at Sam and saw him lying on his back, his head tilted at an odd angle. A very odd angle. An angle no one living person could withstand. Cas didn’t even bother to confirm that Sam was dead. He’d obviously bashed his head onto the floor and nearly decapitated himself. His head was surrounded by more blood than Castiel thought could exist in a human body. Castiel lay his ear on Dean's mouth to listen for breath, though that had long since stopped.

         _What good was one more angel fighting in Heaven, when I could have saved my family?_ Castiel tortured himself _. If I’d died in combat, I would have been easily replaced. But I let Dean die, instead. Dean is irreplaceable. He’s worth more than all the angels in Heaven to me, and now he’s dead because of me. Five minutes. If I’d just surrendered that battle when I first sensed that something was wrong, if I’d come home five minutes earlier, my family would be alive._

         Cas gave up on self-flagellation and held Dean tightly. He was distantly aware of the sound of the front door unlocking and opening. “Got your shoes,” Walker began to say. Then he took in the carnage, and Castiel cradling an obviously dead Lola’s father. “Is, is Lola here?” he squeaked out as if he were imitating a baby just learning to talk.

         Castiel didn’t move as he answered Walker. “She’s in Hell.”

         “What!!” Walker screamed, having found his voice again. “She’s dead?!”

         “No,” said Castiel. “She went of her own volition. She wants to be there. I think she will be there for a very long time.”

         Walker stood in the doorway, transfixed.

         “Would you mind giving us,” he looked around the room, “I mean me, some privacy?” asked Cas. Walker didn’t need to be told twice. He was out of there in an instant, still carrying Lola’s shoes.

 

=====

         Angels don’t cry. They have no need for food and drink. They do not reproduce. Their vessels wear the same clothes every day because they have no reason not to. Angels don’t get dirty. In their true form, they are pure spirit and energy and light. Angels neither sleep nor dream. They don’t have emotions. And they never cry.

         Castiel buried his head in his dead lover’s neck and wept.

**The End**


End file.
